Date: Tue, 29 Jan 2008 02:15:13 -0800 (PST)
From: Jason Gilbert
Subject: East European God, Chapter 1
Disclaimer: This story contains Homoeroticism. If you are offended by
Homoeroticism, or are not of the legal age to read such material, or it is
illegal to read such material where you reside, please leave now. Also this
is a work of Fiction and any resemblance to real people and/or events in
reality is entirely coincidental.
East European God
Chapter One
I just sat there, idly waiting at the gate for the plane to start
boarding. I've just recently turned 18, only a month ago, and was glad to
be on my own during February Vacation. My Uncle Greg kinda forced this on
me. He was the one that bought my fare across Germany. This whole week I've
been going from Frankfurt to Munich to Bonn to Hamburg and finally to
Berlin. But it was nice to be on my own in a foreign country. Though, I
would have picked a more relaxed schedule, so I could really enjoy
Deutschland. But Uncle Greg, the control freak he is, made sure I took a
crash course on a country's art and history (he wanted me to go to Italy,
but I persuaded him to let me go instead to Germany) for this week's
vacation.
I've been up since five o'clock, caught a flight from Berlin to
Frankfurt, but not before, I listened to the tour guide my uncle hired for
me talk about how to be a good business man for about 45 min or so(like
that's what I really want to do the rest of my life). Uncle Greg is an
asshole, as he is trying to control my life; he wants me to go to business
school and help him run his company. Though I don't understand why he does,
he never did anything to help out my family before. And where does he get
off telling me how to run my life?
My family is not poor, but we aren't rich either. It's not like I live
in a trailer park, but it's not like I live in a mansion either. Lower
middle class that's what we are, dad was a supervisor at an automotive
parts manufacturer in Indianapolis (until it went south to Mexico), and my
mom is the receptionist at the middle school (can you imagine the crap I
got in 7th and 8th grades because of that). I'm thankful that she doesn't
work at my high school, even though it is my senior year. Dad has been
trying to get a job elsewhere, but all he's been able to get is Wal-Mart so
far. So the bills have been a little tough for them to pay lately, and good
old Uncle Greg just watches. Though I herd form mom yesterday that it
looks as if dad might get a job at another plant, I've been keeping my
fingers crossed.
I on the other hand, gave up my part-time job at a local supermarket.
They wanted me to work this week, full-time. But my uncle put his foot
down, said that I must be going to Europe, no excuses. So, they fired me,
they wouldn't give me the week off. It was either take the week off and
lose my job, or hear about blowing off Europe from my pestering Uncle for
decades to come.
So there I was, sitting at one of the many Lufthansa gates, waiting to
go back home. I had a long day ahead of me. My flight was booked for 5pm,
but weather kicked in, a thunderstorm with torrential rain caused the
flight to be delayed until 6:30. It was a seven and a half hour flight to
New York, which translated to a 9pm (Eastern Time) arrival. Luckily my
flight to Indianapolis won't be affected, since it departs at 9:55pm. My
older brother Charlie was to pick me up at 12am, and I had to admit, I
couldn't wait. I couldn't wait to finally be in my own bed.
I looked at my watch, it read 4:03pm, another hour or so until we
board the plane. I've already been in Frankfurt Airport for five hours
since I landed on another Lufthansa flight from Berlin. I was a bit
excited, albeit a little tired. I put away my book I was reading, I figured
I could explore a bit more, maybe even get glimpses of the other planes. I
love airports, the whole flying experience actually, that is why I'm
leaning towards becoming a pilot, not some damn sneaky businessman like my
uncle.
I stood up and looked around me. There where quite a few people
around, must have been a least 150. I figured the rest had the same idea as
me and where up and about. I walked to the window, which was no easy task
considering the bags I had to step over. I looked out at the charcoal grey
sky and the rain beating on the glass. Every once in a while the skies
flashed, and even a bolt or two could be seen, followed by a loud clap or
roaring thud that shook your bones, and the terminal when it was close. I
could also see the plane I was to board eventually, a Boeing 747-400.
Currently it's the second largest aircraft behind the new enormous Airbus
A380. But to me that didn't matter, I favored the 747 anyway.
I turned away from the window and walked across to the rest of the
terminal. As I walked, I would give a glance at other gates, seeing the
spectacle of people trying to get reimbursement for the delayed flights,
something that they will not get since you can't control the weather. I
also stole some peaks at so hot boys too. One flight to London must have
had 20 high school athletes waiting at its gate, and not one was even
remotely less than hot looking. Not to use a pun, but I wish I had 20 cute
athletes at my gate. I must have looked at the group for 10 minutes before
moving on, and I had a tough time controlling my wood too.
After 30 minutes I turned into a bathroom. After I pissed at the
urinal, I went to the sink and washed my hands. I then splashed my face
with cold water, which seemed to help with the slight grogginess I felt. I
looked up at the mirror and saw blue-green eyes stare back at me. I looked
at my reflection for a minute, I guess I was contemplating why a few girls
took great interest in me. Most say I'm not bad looking, while a good
percentage say im hot. I have a slim 5'8" 145lbs build, and I only have
just the beginnings of a 6-pack (I don't work out much, just a few crunches
and pushups every other day, nothing big). My hair is dark-brown and short,
and I always keep it gelled in a messy, spiked fashion. I have relatively
gentle features. I don't find myself hot . . . no, more like, acceptable,
and maybe even cute, but to me not hot. Though I guess that's because I'm
the type that likes the bad ass beefed up jocks, biker boys, and all those
other manly professions.
I walked away from the bathroom and made my way back to the gate. I
figured since I had a few minutes until boarding, I'd just sit and wait at
the gate. When I got there, I came to the realization that I wasn't the
only one with the same idea. As I walked up to the gate, all I could see
was a sea of people and carry-on luggage. It seemed as if all the 340
passengers were there. There were so many people that I couldn't find a
spot to sit down. So instead I stayed standing up and leaned against a
pillar, placing my carry-on between my feet, practically squishing it with
my feet to keep from anyone stealing it.
I looked out the window and noticed the weather was clearing; it
stopped raining and the clouds where actually dissipating. You could now
see the brilliant reds, purples, oranges and pinks of the setting sun. I
looked at my watch; it was 20 past five. I figured only five minutes or so
until boarding.
Sure enough, about five minutes later the lady at the counter
announced the boarding of or flight in English first (albeit with a thick
German accent), then German. I took out my ticket and looked at the seat,
50A. Just to remind myself where I was, as if I hadn't memorized it
already. I then glanced at my name Christopher Michael Jacobson.
I saw as the orderly chaos of people lining up to board the plane as
their seat sections where called. "Quite a few hot guys" I thought to
myself as I saw a number of high school and college age guys stand up and
line up to enter the plane. The only thing that I was hopping at that point
when they called my section, was to have one of these studs sit next to me
on the plane.
And this I kept hoping and preying as I was slowly walking down the
jetway to the plane. There were quite a number of old people to, and
hideous men, and women actually. All I could think of was my flight on the
way to Frankfurt, sitting next to a chubby 43, who hadn't shaved or taken a
shower in what smelled like two days at least and snored the whole way. And
on top of it, next to him was an old lady, I think his mother, which
smelled of alcohol. Trust me, you don't want to have to bare that for eight
hours.
It took me a while to finally get to my seat in the back of the plane,
as people were moving slow and waiting for others to sit down. But there it
was, row 50, seat A. I stowed my carry-on In the bin above, then climbed
over two empty seats to get to my window seat. I looked at the two seats
next to me and hoped that no one would be sitting there, if not a cutie.
It was another 25 minutes before most of the people got settled, and
each time I saw a hot guy come close, I mumbled to myself "please sit here,
please sit here, please dear God let him sit here" I must have done that a
dozen times, only to have them sit in the bunch of seats in the middle, or
several rows behind me. I gave up on it and just looked out the window for
a while, watching the remainder of the sun fade away, and a sea of black
take over the sky. I was so entranced by the sight of passing planes that
finally got clearance to depart, and the hustle of busses, trolleys, trucks
and ground crew outside, that I jumped when I heard someone thud into the
seat next to me.
For a split second I dreaded turning to see the person, not wanting to
see an ugly 40 year old hillbilly or something like that, sitting next to
me on the flight to New York. But instinct took over and I looked. I was
astounded by what I saw. I almost thought I was going mad. There, right
next to me In seat 50B was the most gorgeous piece of art that I had ever
seen. The most gorgeous guy I had ever laid eyes on was sitting next to
me. Even sitting down you could tell he was at least 6 feet tall, and his
T-shirt snug so nicely to his body, it left nothing to the imagination. He
must have weighed a good 195 pounds or so, all solid lean muscle. His arms
where a good 17 or 18 inches around, his chest looked hard and firm as
stone, bulging from his body, and his abs were cut deep in a well-defined
six-pack that the shirt could not even contain. He had the most beautiful
ocean blue eyes, beautiful soft, thick medium-brown hair, and gentle, yet
firm and masculine facial features that gave a playful and approachableness
about him, which made him look like the sweetest, nicest guy on earth.
He looked at me concerned as I looked at him, transfixed by his
beauty, and the fact that a demigod like him was sitting next to me. He
checked his ticket looked it over, then turned to me and asked with a
slight Ukranian accent "This is 50B correct?".
I just stared at him like an idiot, not believing my luck. I was
actually going to get my wish; a hot guy was going to ride with me all the
way to New York.